


Freak On A Leash

by Arhain_Aku



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: All Invented Singularity, Alternate Universe - Future, Blood and Gore, Cold-Blooded Reader, Drug Addiction, Epic Battles, Heavy Metal, I Definitely Do What I Want, I Don't Even Know, No Plot/Plotless, Other, Sexual Tension, Smoking Reader, Sorry Not Sorry, Spoiler Alert Ritsuka Is The Enemy, Ultraviolence, Weird Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arhain_Aku/pseuds/Arhain_Aku
Summary: "You should muzzle your dobie, it's being far too rude."You grinned at the provocation, readjusting your hair as if you were not concerned about anything that was currently happening. That is to say, your Servant kicking the hell out of his oponent's majestic flaky arse."Oh sorry, I don't even have a leash", you answered, fueled with your glorious arrogance.- Basically not-that-plotless imagine shots about a mysterious War for the Holy Grail, inspired (I insist on this point) by Fate Grand Order Universe, focused on Cú Chulainn Alter because I'm a cliché of a Celt lol, but I don't really know where I'm going. Just for fun.
Relationships: Cú Chulainn Alter | Berserker/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	1. Morituri Te Salutant

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks to be here and read my shit. You'll figure out that I am crude, but heh, take this work as a cathartic thing, like let's purge out our inner violence and brutality together in it because we had a bad week and we need it.  
Please don't mind my lame grammar and poor vocabulary cos I'm French af (headshot me if it's too awful lmao)
> 
> I have codified the character the Reader incarnates, just because we all deserve to feel badass sometimes. I don't know what I am heading on right now, I don't know how the relationship Master/Servant will evolve (something really weird and toxic and unhealthy for a normal human being), but I'll try to make something poetic and agreeable to read. 
> 
> Enjoy the ride ?

Yes, you were that kind of bitch, with your sharp burgundy liner on and whole dressed in Alexander McQueen, even lost in the mountains – but nobody gave a single damn about that. And that was certainly not the case of that hyper-violent fellow right here who was standing before you. His troubled scarlet eyes, still gazing at some heavy disaster that happened some millenniums ago, were saying something like “Why the hell did you summon me in a field full of damn goats ?”, with an obviously annoyed and cold tone.

And he was right.

A fucking Berserker, indeed. The promise of great eruptions of blood, at some point that no one could ever know whose it was in the middle of the battlefield. A modern battlefield, the streets, the city, blood on dark and filthy concrete at midnight, with the moon pouring its pale light on the road along with neons, and the whole thing shines and somehow you could find some beauty in it.

Oh yeah, you could feel it creeping in your bones like an atomic fever, no matter what feeling or dimension of the sensation of excitation that was. Something hard. Something liquid ; acid melting in your veins and invading your lungs. You could barely breathe.

Or at least was it fear ?

For even if you were a Master in your whole glory, that creature before your eyes would not easily bend the knee. You knew that far too well, and although you were usually damn cold-blooded, you could not prevent your gloved hands from shaking. 

The very embodiment of fury, the Mad King they said, born Sétante, son of Lug of the Thúata Dé Danand and Deichtine, Culann’s Hound they said, Cú fucking Chulainn. Some beast-like warrior from old times you once read about for fun, and here you were. That was not fiction any more, but pure History, absolute reality. Devastation wearing black and crimson furs, with threatening spades and a tail, which was not human-like at all, and all the frightening stuff.

The dog was not a kind and affectionate Labrador Retriever, but a god-damn Cerberus, which was absolutely anachronistic.

In a lost field, somewhere in British Columbia, and with a whole flock of goats. You had to sacrifice one or two for the ritual, which was absolutely legitimate. And yes, you did it on purpose. That is to say, fly from your fancy loft in Los Angeles to reach a land that kept its part of wildness and authenticity. To catch the essence and cruelty of Nature. To hear the feral wolf’s cry and the owl’s moan. No, that was not the fear that made you tremble all over, but the cold. Yeah, it was the cold, only the cold.

Mad hero or not, you would never allow this pup to bring you down. So you exhaled all the venom and the anxiety from your wicked lungs, turned your attention to what was supposed to be your Servant, and said firmly :

“Let’s waste that one hell of a War.”

For that was the very reason why you summoned him as a Berserker or altered super-villain version, whatever. To go fucking berserk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Eminem's Berzerk playing somewhere in the background, maybe from my French blue car from where I'mm filming the scene, and thumbs up, you did amazing, now I'm going to sleep bc it's past 2 am there)


	2. Abyssus Abyssum Invocat

“Berserker, here is my first order.” 

That was typically the very moment when you had to make a good impression. Even if that meant addressing some god damned weird creature who had lost its reason somewhere long time ago and who was all devoted to you, you had to impose respect. For respect was the key of a sane and easy authority, closer to friendship than to fear. Thus, the first injunction would determine what kind of relationship would evolve between the two of you.

Hey, although he looked like some enraged Pitbull terrier, you had to admit that he was in fact pleasantly handsome, somehow. Which was not such a detail to be ignored.

So yes, a good impression.

And here you were, riding like crazy in a brand new black Mercedes you had stolen, not caring about any speed restriction from the Highway Code, because nobody did, it did not make sense any more in a world like that, in this world that was turning to dust and that meant nothing, far away from metaphysics and quantum theories. All that remained was violence ; violence hidden in capitals, openly shown in armed conflicts and standardised in language. Violence as a trade, violence as a custom, violence as a fashion. That was definitely how you would describe this war for the Grail. And what was the Holy Grail anyway ? Nothing were to be qualified of holy down here. You were godless. And so was your Servant.

And that, that was really, really heavy metal.

Although you drove rather fast, you kept steady speed. Someone flashed his lights at you, another beeped at you, and who were they to fucking complain at two in the morning, Jesus, they were not even supposed to be there, why are cities always so crowded at night. Because, of course, you hated this shitty area called Los Angeles. Nothing was angelic in it. And as superficial you were in your god damned pristine Louis Vuitton silver top, driving a blacker-than-black Mercedes-Maybach S-Class, with heavy make up and all that fancy shit, how itching was the urge to puke at all the faces of those fair-haired ladies and gentlemen, with their golden suits on, sparkling in parties you never wanted to attend but did, after a great Japanese whisky booze-up. _Holy Mary_, that would be terrific.

You let go of the wheel to light up a cigarette, and your Servant, who remained obnoxiously silent and nonchalant next to you in his mundane form dared to address you an interested look.

You opened the window to release the toxic smoke after having taken a needy drag, appreciating the rush of nicotine. This kind of familiar things were far better than velvet and cocaine. You finally held the wheel with one hand, getting back on the right track of the road, the other hand being busy with the so-called cigarette.

“Okay, I am stressed as hell. I think I’m afraid to die. But...”

“But ?”

“There is one fact you must know about me, so we would be able to work together in great joy and great merriment, without you judging me like you already do. Do you know what I hate the most in this fucked up world ?”

“Do you even like something, Master ?

You took another drag. Shorter this time. He was right, you were something of a cynic. You let a laugh escape from your lips. A rather cold one, slightly bemused. That was not stress nor anxiety. That was fucking adrenaline. 

In your rear-view mirror, a beaming golden light which came from nowhere. It has been five minutes since not a single car were to be seen around. There was only the road, the long and straight line of anthracite asphalt, cut in two parts with the phosphorescent white markings in the saturnine night.

And moreover, you just figured out that the only light that was left to see was the one from the black Mercedes.

Something hit the back of the car, but no explosion followed the shock. 

No surprise was to be read on both of your faces. You smirked. Crimson blood was running out of your beautiful lips, the car was damaged but could still race on. The car. You. Resilience. Things always worked that way. You did not slow the pace nor revved up, and let the blood run on as it pleased.

“So ?”, asked your Servant, not even making a comment about the situation and the blood messing up your expensive clothes.

“I fucking hate innocence.”

That was her. This innocent and kind and stupidly pretty young girl with fair, fair hair and as sexy as every whore would be. And do you even like something, Master, my oh my he was damn right, nothing could be even righter. Him, you liked him, he would understand. The fury, this strong will to burn a whole city down, to slaughter a whole family for vengeance’s sake. Nero facing Rome falling in despair in a whole conflagration of madness and burning flames. You knew all of that. Mashu Kyrielite did not. But a man who had cut three heads off at seven years old for his own ego, when he was actually alive, would certainly do.

“And your order ?”

You locked your cat eyes in his own, shining like rubies in the spoiled darkness, for it was not a pure darkness, all polluted like that with the rainbow LED lights bulbs of the Maybach, with the silver and the diamonds of your earrings, with the moon outside and the stars. Blinding silver coupled with the fire red of his eyes and the fire red of your lips. Silence only broken by the smooth melody of the engine. You took another drag. Gunshot the puff of smoke in his face. Then answered with a firm voice :

“No mercy, Berserker.”

What was even wrong with this world for _her_ to come and waste absolutely everything ? LA was under your rule. This was your territory. But you were not in LA any more. You did not recognise that road. There were no straight lines like this one in LA. You checked your left wing-mirror and distinguished Mashu’s silhouette in the dark. No light to emphasise her fucking innocence and genuine kindness in this world of sinners and monsters. Let’s get it started, eh.

You did not have the time to realise what was even happening that you found yourself all curled up under the wheel, and found out that the right door was suddenly missing. Okay, your Servant was not a materialist like you were. Yet, that was damn bold to fuck up a god damned Maybach in those difficult times. Archaic was the word, yeah. Nevertheless, your foot was still pressing the accelerator – you decided to put it on the account of your primordial survival instinct.

You heard a big noise above you and the car trembled. Mother of God, you could feel your heart beating along with your Servant’s own, the rage, the hunger for violence, and it made you high. So you did not care and followed your instinct. You were confident, your Servant would not die tonight and you would not die as well. So you kept on driving, focusing on Mashu’s damn silhouette and her big bronze cross-shaped shield in your wing-mirror. Thus, you felt that your own energy was stolen by someone else, as sucked out of you. You kept on riding. A red light, a black reptilian tail, a roar, metallic sounds, confusion, and nothing. You understood that your Servant had just unleashed the damn Gae Bolg and you just rode on, dreaming of the flesh and blood mess that would remain in the end.

You were on your own and the night was darker than ever.

You parked your car on the side of the road and got out of the dented blacker-than-black Maybach. You were freezing out there. The wind rushed through your hair and it felt like Satan’s bite. It occurred to you that you have just been separated from the party and it pissed you off. You spat out the blood from your teeth in full annoyance. And what the fuck was happening, and who was Mashu’s Master because it was time for him to get his arse kicked. You spat again, for no reason at all.

Yeah yeah yeah, Fujimaru, that was the name. But as far as you could remember, the image of a fragile little brunette boy was what you had associated to that name. Nothing to be anxious about. Nonetheless, he was certainly supporting his Demi-Servant or whatever, and you were not doing so. And all the gods in the world, the former and the new, knew how important for you it was to attend the fights. No, that was not a matter of concern, your Berserker would perfectly make his own carnage shit himself as the mentally ill grown-up he was. You had read enough about this to trust him. But it felt like some evil mind would have stolen your ice-cream from your child hand and thrown it into some shop window for fun. Pure disappointment it was.

Wait.

He did it on purpose, did he ? You sighed and sat down on the cold asphalt, and lit another cigarette, quietly waiting. Three minutes later your Servant reappeared before you, breathless, his cobalt blue hair all messed up and bruises on his jaw and grazes all over his torso, scarlet blood hiding the scarlet tattoos he had on his chest. You picked yourself up and sighed again.

A good impression, indeed.

“It is so kind of you to protect me this way.”

A heavy silence followed, as if the entire world were holding its breath, waiting for your Servant’s answer.

“No mercy, you said.”

That was damn bold. Yes, he actually did include you in your own order. What was that. Why. And why on Earth did he came back at your feet like a fucking poodle, you did not remember having signed for this.

“I failed killing her.”

“Any wound ?”

“She might have some broken ribs.”

You crossed your arms on your chest as to shelter yourself from the cold, thinking.

“Well... I guess that you figured out that I was the singularity ?”

“So am I.”

His tone surprised you and you thought that you could fall in love like right now, because oh God, that was badass. Some not-handsome-at-all guy had once told you in a vain attempt to sleep with you, that you were cold as ice and sharp as a glacier. Two similes in the very same lexical field, with a gradation, was first of all the mark that the guy were pretending to be interested in literature matters and had bad taste. Secondly, it appeared that you were not that cold, actually. Fuck it, your Berserker was a real glaciation in comparison.

But you wanted to see the fire, the deflagration, the explosion, vivid colours in this dark town that would never see the sun again.

You looked at him in the eyes, softening your expression with an amused grin. Yeah, both of you needed more. This was not a question of desire, or a volatile fantasy. A need, as a result of an addiction. Him for duty and you just for feeling alive in an era made of steel and robotics. With AI and money as the declension of immortality, wizards transcending the equation because conservatism and traditions still existed and ever will. More. More of that drops of primary rage, of what made you beasts and animals ; humans and their flaws. You were not praying for a genocide, you were not fuelled by cruelty and sadism. In fact it was more noble than all of that.

In your research for this feeling the past heroes might have felt in primary times, you had just created a singularity and it was solely an accident.

But maybe it was even more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am planning to write a sex scene (yeah it occured to me) and it stresses me more than my placement in Ireland lmao. ANYWAY, you okay ? me neither.  
Hope you enjoyed it despite the shitty grammar and unnatural constructions, I'll do my best I promise.  
HANA's last album inspired me for this chapter, that is why it's that vanilla. Okay, I listened to Behemoth and I was drunk while writing one part of it so I don't even know.  
Much love, keep on kicking asses like everyday, and everything will be fine. Y muchos besos


	3. Questio Quid Juris

This was the first time of your entire life that you experienced the emotion of being really happy to be home. The very second you entered your loft after few minutes passed in the elevator that felt like entire ages, a strong feeling of relief seized you, and God that was damn good. Your apartment was not messy and nothing was better than this. It felt serene, like that, with the pale and soothing artificial lights of the town crossing the transparent barrier of the windows, pouring their golden calmness on the rosewood leather of the couch and on the ebony of the furniture. The lava lamps and the other LEDs gradually lighted the room in dim orange and red tones and it warmed your soul.

Oh that was one hell of a night and your Servant could not even keep his materialised form, both of you were strong but it was clear now that you urgently needed training. Caster was not the type to just mess up around like you did, he was serious and it was part of the game, you were well aware of that.

You saw your reflection in the window panes of your living room and chuckled. You were scarcely looking like the usual beauty that you were, actually you were a mix of a good-looking peasant from Middle Ages in expensive clothes, and a sassy Australopithecus. With blood and ashes in your hair and on your pretty face, and the wound on your ribs was gradually flooding your Persian carpets with crimson blood, and all the thoughts that occurred to you were that it was funny and that you needed a long bath.

Your enemies would wait before slaughtering both of your bodies and souls in full amusement. May they try, you had protected your territory with strong spells you inherited from your family, and willing to invade your private space would give to the invaders a foretaste of what hell might be (that is what your unfortunately deceased grand-father used to say).

You let water wash away the dirt and the blood, but did not pray for it to do so to your sins and faults and flaws and past. You had to keep everything, you had to let the rage and the violence embrace you at your demand, so even in moments of pure leisure and idleness, you did not dissipate the tempestuous and demonic energy that was festering in your core for years. You closed your eyes and immersed yourself completely in the water, then opened them to see the blurry neon lights of your black and metallic bathroom. You thought that your body might look like this, all distorted and disturbed, from outside of the tub, and wondered how would you die if you were to be killed on the battlefield. 

You emerged. You did not care about the water dripping from your hair and skin on the tiles. When you got outside the bathroom only covered by a white towel and still wet, you met the nonchalant eyes of your Servant that had rematerialised. It seemed that even as fucked up as he was, he was still keeping watch like every Dobermann would do, with restless attention and strong determination. None of you felt embarrassed by your current state, damn, and why would you, that was nature and nothing less than nature. Your Servant seemed to share the same point of view and “interesting” was the only word that you could put on it.

“I know that you have an obsession for having the enemy killed at the end of the party, but really, you did not have to be that obstinate. Caster was not out of our league, but I do believe that it is wiser to observe him for a while and wait for the right moment. Catching the occasion, the kairos, stuff like that, understood ?”

He kind of grunted in disapproval and rolled his eyes and it was damn cute, and no, that was not an adjective that would really apply for him, but at least it expressed some weird feeling you had at the moment.

“Come on, let me take care of those nasty wounds that you have here, then have some rest. You’re not unbreakable, even as tough as you are.”

You had him installed on the couch while you were returning back to the bathroom to catch the tools and products needed to sterilise his wounds. You would not use a spell for superficial things like this. Your magic was special and had to be used with great precautions and intelligently, you could not allow yourself to waste a spell for things that was not worth the effort. You had been clear on that point. You had stamina to spare, but your mana was not an endless fountain, it had to be manipulated carefully. 

You decided to put on a satin black kimono with embroidered white and terracotta camellia motifs, not that you cared about decency but it started to be disagreeable to walk around in a fucking towel. Hair could wait, shit, it was 5 am and you had more important things to do.

As you were cleaning the several injuries and bruises of your Berserker you noticed that he was damn tensed and no, it was not solely a question of muscle and it could not be anxiety. The very embodiment of rage, it was. Restless energy and untameable fury that constantly boiled in his veins and were electrifying the flesh. You have never been that close to him and it stroke you now, how real and passionate it was. Irregular breathing and steady tachycardia. Alert senses. Millenniums of history and disturbed death by visions of the past, a doomed warrior for the gods entertainment. You felt no empathy, but your stone-heart could at least show some respect.

And as close as you were, almost naked, small and fragile in comparison to his imposing alien and beast-like figure, it did not feel awkward nor queer. That was just contact and humanity, help in its purest form and holy shit it had been a god damned while since you actually helped someone on purpose, for the hell of it.

You caught your Servant’s look staring at the curious inscriptions on your bare thighs, descending down to your foot, the matte black of your nails perfectly combined with it, in black and blue and coral and tangerine motifs. A snake, a heron, cherry-tree flowers, maple leaves, rising waves, small details on your skin. Some parts of the feudal tattoo seemed to fade away, and your other thigh was all virgin, even if the scales of another snake were to be seen on your calf.

And no you would not blush because it was a pragmatic action, nothing more than that, he was right, why the fuck were you always wearing covering clothes as to hide the tattoos, and why the heck did you have them and why on earth where they disappearing like that.

“Puzzling, innit ? They’re the materialisation of my mana and each symbol represents a spell. The ink that I use is special, mana can merge with it and circulate freely, they’re like outside circuits, just under the skin. An old tradition of my family, the spells are not to be spoiled, I’m the last one belonging to the clan, all of them died in some wizards conflict I have ended on my own with great violence. I usually don’t talk about it but I think you deserve to know that. I can do common magic shit but each famous family has their own trick, eh. Here is mine. It will be our little secret.”

You could not give him a demonstration but you had a penchant for things that explode and some of your tattoos could really act like fucking TNT. They could come to life and obeyed perfectly for they were you, they were part of you, your own crystallised energy.

Your Berserker seemed satisfied with your long speech and concentrated on the black landscape outside and on the sun that would never rise again, while you were finishing your duty as a Master. Thus, you walked to the bar at the other side of the room and poured yourself a drink – you had addictions to look after and maintain. You poured another one for your Servant and gave it to him, but the latter rose an eyebrow and gave you a look as if you were the stupidest shit in the world. 

“What ? I’ve read somewhere that you were one hell of a drunkard when alive, and I found that really sexy actually, I thought we would have something normal in common”, you said matter-of-factly after having emptied you glass from the copper-coloured liquor.

No reaction.

He sighed and replied, coldly :  
“We’re at war and you have fun like a little child.”

“Of course I have fun, man, we’re probably going to die so I enjoy it as much as I can. I don’t even care about winning that shit, all that I want is to see Mashu’s boobs explode, really, they offended me. And it would be wonderful if you could decapitate her Master with your tail, damn, it would be deadly.” You poured yourself another drink and sat on the couch next to him. “So shut the fuck up and sláinte.”

Holy Jesus fucking Christ, did he just smile. In exasperation, certainly. He was right, you were acting childish and it pissed you off as well, but you were just overexcited and you had too much energy to deal with, and insomnia never helped. Really, you could fall in love because it had you thunderstruck, damn.

That was quite antithetic because he was supposed to be some hardcore killing machine. Oh maybe was he just exhausted, both of you have kept fighting for three straight days and even if he was acting like a wolfhound most of the time, he was not as dehumanised as the other Berserkers you met before, so yeah, tiredness was no surprise. 

“Fucking sleep before I do something silly”, you said, rising and bringing your empty glass and the bottle with you. “I’m going to work, those tats need some maintenance, use my bed, the couch, what you want, I don’t give a fuck, but I exhort you to fucking sleep.”

That being said, he dematerialised.

“Fuck off, really”, but there were no irritation in your words because it was not necessary, and you started to become used of his disobedience, and put a cigarette in your mouth.

This workplace was such a mess in comparison to the rest of the apartment. The mezzanine was full of vials of different inks, books with photographs of different styled tattoos, sketches, pens, rock music, classical and electro vinyl records. You sighed and sterilised your equipment before starting to draw on your bare thigh, not caring about your kimono slipping off your shoulder and uncovering your tattooed chest. You were alone after all, your Servant were on the other side of the city, searching for an enemy to bother. You wanted to see Mashu’s boobs explode and that was the only thing that he kept in mind, and that was damn wise.

The dulling noise of the machine occupied you thoughts even if a foreboding intuition was somehow creeping in your brain.

You stopped the machine, attentive to the silence of the night, when you heard something breaking your window in deafening broken glass sounds. You let the dragon on your right arm burst into flame as a threat, the ink not even hurting your skin as you went downstairs to see what the fuck was going on and who was strong enough to break your defense, Jesus, that spell was a real fortress.

A curious radiating blue arrow was stuck on one of your large Japanese fans ornamenting the wall. The only sound to be heard now was the spluttering of the soft flames on you arm. You saw a dark silhouette with silver hair and smirked, definitely amused by how the things were evolving, not even embarrassed of being only wearing a loose kimono and super sexy black undies.

Now things were crystal clear.

“Sorry Archer, your little Irish crush’s not here and I don’t think I want to share actually. Don’t mind us getting your arse kicked next time because I shall remember that affront, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Weeknd's last songs are super hot and I am so hyped for Grimes' next album I-  
Anyway, believe me I have really read in old texts that Cú Chulainn was fucking drinking like nobody and it was wonderful, and yes I am reading literary sources for a fucking fanfiction and I enjoy it.  
This chapter was kind of sexy and softer but it is freezing out there and some "fluff" to warm us up would do no harm. I promise, next chapter will be ultra-violent because I really want to introduce the others and I am inspired. I just don't really have time to write this month because of my exams and all the paper stuff for my placement and shit, but you don't give a fuck about my life. So please be patient, I am very very very sorry.  
Thus, keep on being sassy queens or kings or whatever because winter is coming. Much love et de gros bisous.


End file.
